


instead, i took care of you

by marigolds



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, Friendship, M/M, Possible Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marigolds/pseuds/marigolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just needs to know that his best friend is still there. | Set during the Motel California episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	instead, i took care of you

The bus is rickety, rocking underneath their footsteps as they step inside, its seats creaking as the group slips into their separate places, but it feels safe compared to what’s outside, to the motel quivering with unsettled residents and ghosts. It’s a solid thing, something familiar, and while Stiles could hardly wait to get out of it before, he’s glad to be there, now, surrounded by people he knows, who he -- who he loves.  
  
Scott smells like gasoline. He reeks of it, and it’s stuck to Stiles’ clothes, lingering on his hands from where he’d hugged him around the waist as Lydia pushed them away from the flames.  
  
Stiles has been that close to death so many times before, but it feels different this time. He keeps glancing at Scott from the corner of his eye, catches Allison doing the same thing, and keeps thinking about what  might have happened had they not gotten there in time. Scott’s back is pressed against the bus wall and window, legs spread over the seat, eyes staring at one spot on the other side, and Stiles wants to say something, wants to pull him out of his fears and self-pity, but --  
  
He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared that this isn’t the last time something like this is going to happen, that it isn’t the only time he’s going to come so close to losing Scott that he can taste it like bile in his throat. He’s so scared for Scott, for himself, that he worries he’ll vomit if he opens his mouth, so he keeps his lips pressed firmly together, keeps his gaze steadied on his best friend in the seat in front of him.  
  
“I’m so tired,” he hears Allison murmur, hushed, into Lydia’s shoulder. When Stiles’ gaze flutters to them, just for a moment, he sees their hands clasped together on Lydia’s thigh, Allison’s head on her arm. Her eyes shift to Scott and then to Stiles; she smiles, weakly, like she’s glad they’re both okay but she isn’t sure how else to convey it.  
  
Stiles smiles back, forces it, manufactures it. He swallows thickly, pushes the wave of nausea back down. Turns away from her, back towards Scott. He hasn’t moved. He smells burnt. Stiles sucks in a breath, chokes on it, and coughs until his eyes are watering. Lydia shoots him a concerned look, brows furrowed over her pretty green eyes, pink mouth turned so far downwards that it pulls at her face, but Stiles, he -- he doesn’t want to face her, doesn’t want her concern. He just -- needs to know that his best friend is okay, that he’s still there.  
  
Scott’s eyes are on him when he turns his head back towards him, a reassuring smile on his lips. Stiles is torn between punching him until his jaws align and kissing him square on the mouth. He doesn’t fake a smile for Scott because he knows that Scott won’t believe it.  
  
“Hey,” Scott says, quietly, just for Stiles. Stiles clenches his teeth, sets his jaw. Curls his hands into fists. He wants to hit him so, _so_ badly, but -- “C’mere,” Scott adds, shifting until his feet find a purchase on the floor. He pats the spot beside him, nodding his head towards it, and Stiles moves even though his legs feel like lead, drops into the seat heavily, as though he’d exalted almost too much effort to do so.  
  
He’s physically closer to Scott this way, but he feels so far away. He stares at the seat in front of him and moves his leg outwards until their thighs are touching, the warmth of Scott’s body soothing him, reminding him that things -- they’re okay. They’re okay and imperfect and fractured, but Stiles knows that they’ll eventually fit themselves back together. They always do.  
  
“Thank you,” Scott says.  
  
Stiles blinks, opens his mouth, but every word, each sentence and sarcastic remark flitting through his mind, is stuck in his throat. He presses his lips together, swallows, parts them again to breathe.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he answers eventually, tightly. He tenses when Scott purposefully knocks their knees together, to let Stiles know that, yes, he’s still there. He’s there and he’s alive and it’s _okay_ , things are piecing themselves together, even if the edges are jagged. They’re fine. They’re together.  
  
It’s quiet between them for a moment. Isaac and Boyd are murmuring in the back, their words unintelligible but there. If Stiles listens closely enough, he can hear Allison’s steady breathing, the sound of Lydia typing on her cellphone -- he doesn’t have to be a werewolf for these sounds to carry. It’s a small space and it’s claustrophobic and Stiles is next to Scott but he wants to be closer, wants to be stifled, suffocated by the feeling of him. Stiles already feels as though he’s suffocating and it’s not enough. It's not fucking enough.  
  
“I hate the smell of gas,” Stiles mutters, staring straight ahead, as though looking directly at Scott will make him disappear, like a ghost.  
  
“Me too,” Scott says, then, “I burned my shoes.”  
  
“Well, whose fault is that?” Stiles asks dryly, but he sees Scott smile from the corner of his eye and it makes him smile, too, the ends of his lips quirking up despite themselves. Stiles is silent for a moment, but he snorts as he adds, “At least now you’ll get to watch Star Wars.”  
  
“Yeah,” Scott says through a laugh, ducking his head down.  
  
The lightheartedness disappears as quickly as it encroaches, dissipating into nothing. Stiles clutches his own knees, fingers digging into his jeans. He keeps telling himself how illogical, how stupid, it is to still feel like this, to feel so angry and confused and hopeless when things are okay. _There’s always hope_ , he thinks, wants to say, but he doesn’t remember a time he’s felt so utterly without it.  
  
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Scott finally says, breathes it out in a rush of air. He lifts his gaze to look at Stiles but Stiles refuses to meet his eyes, can’t bring himself to do so. “I wasn’t even in my right mind. I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
  
“Well,” Stiles starts, aiming for lighthearted but missing the mark, “that’s why you’ve got me. To knock some sense into you.” His voice sounds strained and so, so tired. He’s clutching at his jeans so tightly his knuckles are turning white. “Good thing, too,” Stiles adds, forces himself to go on, “or else you’d be -- ” he stops, thinks of what to say and ends up --  
  
“Stiles,” Scott whispers, reaching around his shoulders and pulling him close. Stiles blinks a few times, childishly jerks his hand up to brush away stray tears. “Stiles,” Scott says again, firmer, a reminder. It sounds like he’s saying _it’s okay_ , repeating it until Stiles believes him.  
  
“You’re a dick,” Stiles tells him. “You’re such a fucking dick.” He pulls away but meets Scott’s gaze, determined, now. “I’m pissed at you,” he says, “I’m so pissed off at you I can’t -- I can’t even breathe. Or maybe I can breathe but the smell of gas is making me lightheaded. I don’t know.”  
  
Scott doesn’t laugh this time, just bites the inside of his lip and stares at Stiles like he’s about to fall apart. Stiles won’t, _can’t_ , do it. He refuses to.  
  
“Would you have done it?” Scott asks, and it’s so quiet that Stiles has to hold his breath to hear it, has to lean forward. “Would you have -- died? For me?”  
  
Stiles takes a shuddering breath, swallows to settle his pounding heart. “I wasn’t -- I knew you’d let it go,” Stiles says, but the truth is, he’d been completely unsure, had been -- hopeless. Had been ready for the worst.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles says after a heartbeat. “Yeah, I would’ve. I still would,” he says.  
  
Scott clenches his jaw, nods once. Stiles wills himself to relax, pulls a hand from his knee to reach for Scott, to run his fingers over the back of his knuckles. Wordlessly, Scott unclenches his hand, turns it palm up so he and Stiles can hold onto each other.  
  
“I’d die for you, too,” Scott says, whispers into the space between them.  
  
Stiles closes his eyes, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Well,” he says, “don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Something that came to me because Scott/Stiles is my (br)otp and this episode gave me feelings. Here's my [tumblr](http://tomlinous.tumblr.com/) in case you're interested and because why not.


End file.
